When the smell of soil blow,
We find that rain is near.
We find a little glow,
Which makes the children cheer.
In the diary of king Lear,
As of this pretty rain.
The faces grow of fear,
In the village of Spain.
In the path of northern breeze,
There were tears falling from above.
It made me really freeze,
In the flowing rain of love.
The rain is a pouring ocean,
Which drenches everything.
It is a great magic potion,
Which is made in Beijing.